


The Unthinkable

by Wordsmith16



Category: The Mortal Instruments (Movies)
Genre: Brothers, M/M, Magnus and Alec are parents, Parabatai, The Accords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith16/pseuds/Wordsmith16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus and Alec's family is torn apart when the Clave decides they don't like a Downworlder raising a shadowhunter boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ominous Visit

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi chapter fic. Will is a character of my own inventing that stems from Tessa and Jem, obviously named after Will Herondale and Henry Blackthorn. I took the things I love about both those characters and gave those traits to him, while still giving him his own personality. He'll become more prevalent after the first chapter.
> 
> I would appreciate all comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy it!

Five years. That was how long Alec and Magnus had had Rafe. Rafael Santiago Lightwood Bane, their now nine-year-old son, was a Shadowhunter, and as such trained with his future parabatai at the Institute. They had declared Intent so recently, two months ago, but they’d been fighting together since beginning their formal training a year ago. He was happy, healthy, and adored by his dads and little brother. And, of course, by Will. Magnus was thrilled that his son had found a parabatai, as it was not really all that common, especially since that parabatai was William Henry Carstairs, one half of Jem and Tessa’s ten-year-old twins.

            Alec, while happy for his eldest son, worried. The declaration of Intent from two children of warlocks (though one was an ex-Nephilim) was going to draw a ton of Clave attention, which he did not want. They had left Magnus and their family, consisting of Rafe and their baby, Max, also a warlock, alone. For now. But he knew through Izzy and her travels that they did not like a warlock, a Downworlder, raising a Shadowhunter kid. He lived in constant fear they’d take Rafe away.

            Logic told him that they couldn’t. In order to take Rafe from his home, they’d have to forcibly split parabatai, which was against the highest Law. It would be cruel, and alienate not only him, but Jace and Clary, the heads of the NY Institute, Simon (a recruiter for the Clave) and Izzy, Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn, who he knew ran the LA Institute, former Silent Brother Jem Carstairs and Tessa Herondale Carstairs, all the other Blackthorns, and his mother. It was veritable suicide for the Clave presence in two of the biggest cities in America. Not to mention the hostility it would incur from Maia, the head of the NY werewolf pack; Lily, the head of the NY vampire clan; Catarina Loss and the other warlocks close to Magnus, as well as Ansel Nightshade, head of the LA vampire clan. It wasn’t worth it.

           But conversely, Alec knew the Clave. They were cruel, and they were single-minded. No matter what they _said_ , many of them HATED Downworlders. They did what they wanted, and damn the consequences.

            And he wasn’t wrong. The declaration of Intent brought Council members from Idris to the Institute’s doorstep. Rafe and Will were playing with Max, laughing as Rafe’s baby brother giggled uncontrollably at the butterflies erupting from his fingertips. Max’s navy-blue skin glimmered multi-colored in the sunlight, like the surface of the clear ocean. His bright green eyes gleamed with mirth, almost the size of saucers and his 7-year-old face. Max had always been small for his age, appearing about 5-years-old physically. He had a quick mind, though, and that intelligence flashed and danced behind his eyes. His jet-black hair, which fell in tousled curls, was going wild in the breeze.

            The two older boys could not have looked more different. Rafe shared his baby brother’s black curls, but his eyes were a green-gold hazel, his face inquisitive and full of laughter, his skin a tanned brown. He was tall and strong, his training having given him slim muscle, even at his age.

            Will Carstairs looked like a light angel, in contrast to his parabatai’s dark hair and tanned skin. Somehow, though Jem had lost his silver after being cured of his addiction, his children had inherited it. His hair was spun sunlight, like his relative Emma’s, but his eyes flashed silver. His black gear had been traded for ripped jeans and a blue shirt, his few Marks visible under it, sticking out like night against his pale skin.

            Will saw the elder Shadowhunters first. Nudging his future parabatai quickly, he directed Rafe’s gaze toward them as he lifted a startled Max into his arms.

            “Come back to the Institute. We’ll get your Aunt Clary and Aunt Izzy. Let them deal with it.” Rafe hesitated, but eventually nodded slowly and followed Will and Max.                      “Rafael Lightwood.” Rafe almost stopped, but Will grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

            “Let Isabelle deal with it.” The door shut behind them firmly. Will handed Max to Rafe and took off toward the training room.

            “Aunt Izzy! There’s a situation in the foyer.” Her black hair fell like a sheet to her waist, her eyes flashing.

            “A situation?”

            “Clave members. They’re here. They’ve come for Rafe.” Izzy moved quicker than lightning, turning only briefly to Clary before exiting the room.

            “Fire message Magnus.” And she was down the stairs, sweeping Rafe and Max into the Sanctuary, and opened the door. She smiled her sweetest smile at the young man outside the door, who had yet to even knock, and looked startled. His expression changed when he saw her, in all her gorgeous glory, from one of determination to a sideways grin.

            “Can I help you, Aaron Moonshade?” He shifted his weight to lean against the door jam and looked at her seductively.

            “Hey, Izzy. It’s been a long time. You look gorgeous. Unable to help herself, Isabelle closed in a little, hunching her shoulders almost imperceptibly. She had always dressed a little scantily, but it was for comfort. She liked to feel the cool air against her skin, and felt freer in tight pants and bra-like crop tops than Shadowhunter gear. Simon didn’t mind; he knew she loved him and was loyal to him. But now she felt naked under the raking eyes of Aaron Moonshade.

            “Yes it has. Did you come all this way from Idris to state the obvious?” His face changed again, but only slightly, setting determination under his flirty expression. He thought she was playing hard to get.

            God, men were pigs. Sometimes she thought she, Clary, and Alec had found the only decent ones.

            “We came to talk to Rafael Lightwood.” Her eyes narrowed.

            “Rafael Lightwood Bane,” she said, stressing the boy’s actual surname, “is training, not seeing anyone right now.”

            “It is about his Declaration of Intent.” The silver-eyes boy stepped forward the from the shadows where he had been hiding.

            “I’m his parabatai. I’ll tell him what you say. Surely you have to tell me, too.” Aaron had stopped in his tracks when he saw the boy. The way he looked at Will’s eyes, as if identifying them as a devil’s mark. They grew cold, and he flicked his fingers, eliciting a silver spark of magic that dissolved into a flash of explosive moonlight. “And yes. I inherited my mother’s magic. And both her and my father’s Angel blood.” Aaron’s eyes darkened briefly, realizing how completely the NY Institute was surrounded by magic.

            Before anyone could speak another word, as if to emphasize the point, Magnus Xavier Bane descended the stairs. He was truly in all his eccentric warlock glory, his ink-jet hair spiked and dyed with electric blue, gold glitter eyeliner lining his green-gold cat eyes, only wearing a scarlet waistcoat that left the muscles of his arms exposed and showed part of the pattern of swirling lines of his marriage rune and tight black jeans. His gold jewelry, earrings and necklace, matched the gold engagement ring/wedding band on his left hand impeccably. He was quite a sight, despite only appearing to be about 19 years old. Electricity seemed to crackle around him, and the smell of his cologne and the burnt sugar smell of magic that Alec loved so much preceded him into the foyer.

            “Will, Izzy. Clary said that you were down here. And with guests!” He glided forward and extended a hand to the startled young Nephilim. “Magnus Bane. You probably don’t remember me, Aaron Moonshade. I haven’t seen you since you were a toddler.”

            “How do you know me, War… Mr. Bane?” He stopped short of calling Magnus “warlock,” a reflex, in favor of Mr. Bane. He had probably been warned that alienating the High Warlock of Brooklyn was not a good idea.

            “You were young. Your mother was a good woman; she brought you to me for treatment for your eyesight. You had been nearly blinded by a demon at age three, and would never have been able to be a Shadowhunter. It took a few times coming to see me, but I was able to help you, thank the Angel.” It always surprised Izzy how Magnus seemed to have a hand in everywhere. He always knew someone; someone owed him a favor or a debt. Apparently creepy Clave monkeys were no exception.

            “Really? Thank you, Mr. Bane.” He seemed to be trying to decide something, hesitating before closing the front door against the two others that had accompanied him. He had almost begun to speak when a noise came from the direction of the Sanctuary, and Rafe exited, Max still clasped in his arms. The young warlock was almost asleep, his black curly head leaned against his brother’s shoulder. Max found that the perk of being much smaller than the typical seven-year-old was that his brother and dads still picked him up and carried him a lot. It came in handy when he was sleepy.

            “Why are you here?” Will had moved to shield Rafe from notice, but he spoke before he could. Aaron glanced over at him, taking in the vision that was the brothers. He bit his lip apprehensively.

            “I have my orders…”

            “To take me away? Because my daddy and brother are Downworlders?” His hazel eyes flashed, and his voice was colder than ice.

            “No. Not… not yet.” He felt the climate of the room get significantly cooler and held up his hands, almost in surrender. “Look, I have nothing personal against Downworlders or warlocks. My best friend was taken from me in the Dark War, but before that she was the Alpha of the Idris pack, the youngest ever in werewolf history. I was so proud of her the day she took over. Fourteen years old, and she killed the 34-year-old male Alpha.” Joy tinged with pain flashed over his face for an instant, and Izzy felt her heart breaking, and by the look on his face, she could tell Magnus’ was too. “But I have my orders.”

            The door burst open, and the woman who had accompanied him entered the room. She had a commanding presence, and the only thing in her expression when she looked at Magnus, Max, and Will was contempt and loathing.

            “Have you quite finished, Moonshade?” Taking a step back and bowing his head slightly, he replied.

            “Yes, Ma’am.” She turned to Rafe, who had stood his ground right outside the Sanctuary door. “Rafael Lightwood, come here.” Slowly, he came. The noise and commotion of her entrance had not even made the little warlock in his arms stir, and he walked slowly as not to jolt him out of slumber. “You are aware that becoming parabatai is a big commitment.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.” His ma’am was slightly sarcastic, but it was subtle enough that only his family, who knew him extremely well, picked up on it.

            “And you are aware that his mother is a warlock?”

            “Yes. I am aware that Aunt Tessa is a warlock.”

            “She is of no relation to you, child. You should not refer to her as such.” Magnus made a noise of disgust, and the sharp eyes of the woman but at him from across the room. Indignant, Rafe spoke.

“She is my father’s sister; therefore she is my relation, just as Aunt Izzy is!”

“Nor is that man your father. He is one of Lilith’s children, and you are a child of the Angel. The Clave has left you in the care of the Institute and the Lightwoods thus far because we did not feel that any influence that might be considered harmful to your education or training existed. It seems now that we were wrong. Action will be taken.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left, Aaron and the other one who had not uttered a word trailing behind her. They were silent.

A knot formed in Magnus’ chest, like a hand constricting his heart. She had said action would be taken. What if Alec was right? What if they took Rafe away?

His gaze fell on Will and Rafe, their heads bent together, one brilliantly light and one as dark as the night. He saw his sons, and thought of the family he and Alec had worked so hard to build. Her words echoed in his ears as he clenched his fist.

No. They would never take his son. Magnus would see to that.


	2. A Hiatus of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafe and Will prepare to take the oaths of parabatai, as it seems that the Clave has decided against staking action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! I really appreciate any comments and kudos!

Three months. That’s how long they left the Banes alone. Rafe almost thought they’d forgotten, or decided that action didn’t need to be taken. Or maybe the Inquisitor had stepped in, had a change of heart from his years of icy treatment of his son, his husband, and his grandsons. Robert Lightwood may be intolerant, but he had never been cruel.

So life essentially went back to normal. Every morning Magnus rose first, kissing Alec awake before hauling himself out of bed and trying to find one of his ten morning coats. With a snap of his fingers, he started the coffee maker, knowing the smell would waft in to the bedroom, rousing the sleepy, messy haired, completely adorable Alexander. He got his own cup before filling one and taking it back for his Nephilim, who was just letting his eyes flutter open.

“Alexander, you are really not a morning person.” The bright autumn light filtered in through the thin curtains. Magnus, having no patience today for a slow morning, thrust them open and flooded the cluttered room with light. Even after almost six years, the room had a definite, unmistakable air that screamed MAGNUS. The walls were a shocking blue, the bedcovers an explosion of greens. The canopy over the bed glittered gold in the morning light, and the enormous closet on the far side of the room seemed to explode with Magnus’ extensive wardrobe. But there was also no doubt that Alec lived there. He had his own actual wooden wardrobe, and since he didn’t own that many clothes, it worked out well. The walls were decorated with photographs and paintings. The pictures were all of them on their world tour from five years ago, Alec looking younger, Magnus looking the same, or from Alec’s childhood of him, Jace, Izzy, and their little brother Max. There were pictures of Rafe and Max; Shadowhunters may not be big on taking photos, but Magnus sure was.

The paintings were all courtesy of either Clary or Julian Blackthorn. They documented all the important moments in their lives, from Alec and Magnus’ wedding to the day Max’s adoption came through. There was Simon and Clary’s parabatai ceremony, and Simon and Izzy’s wedding, and Jace and Clary’s wedding. It was their lives, and the people in them. Jem with Church and Tessa with Magnus. Love in watercolor.

Alec groaned, turning his face away from the light and into the pillow. Relenting, Magnus nuzzled his face into Alec’s hair. He felt his Shadowhunter lean into the contact and finally force himself into a sitting position, kissing Magnus deeply. It took the warlock’s breath away.

He was just about to say something when they heard a noise from the door.

“EEEEWWWW DADDIES ARE KIIIISSING!!!” Max, in his footie pajamas, was standing at the door, having pushed it noiselessly open. Magnus and Alec locked eyes and a grin broke out on Alec’s face. He leapt from bed and crossed the room in two strides, sweeping the little blue-skinned boy into his arms upside down.

“Oh yeah?” The musical laughter of the little boy filled the room as Alec dumped him on the bed and he and Magnus began mercilessly tickling him.

“Daddies! Daddies st…stop!” He was almost impossible to understand through the giggles, and the laughter of the two men joined in. The commotion brought Rafe to the door, a grin on his sleepy face.

“What’s going on in here?” His thick, black glasses were askew on his nose, his green-gold eyes filled with drowsiness. When he saw that it was a tickle attack, he immediately jumped in to help his brother, targeting Magnus’ feet, which here his most ticklish spots, and Alec’s neck. Magnus focused his attack on their older son while Alec tickled Max. The whole thing lasted about ten minutes before they all collapsed, worn out and breathless from laughing. They lay there for a few minutes, and Alec caught Magnus’ eye, knowing they were thinking the same thing: they were the luckiest people on the Earth, the have their wonderful sons, and to be so happy. It was almost too good to be true. But they both figured that after all they’d been through with the war and the aftermath, they deserved it.

Alec was the first to move, hoisting himself out of bed and slinging Max over his shoulder, the seven-year-old still giggling uncontrollably.

“Who wants pancakes?” The general cheer of approval sent him to the kitchen, young warlock in tow, while Rafe retreated to his room to get dressed. It was an important day, and he was really nervous. Magnus could tell, so he followed him back to the bedroom that had become his when they adopted him four years ago. Previously, Magnus had had three guest rooms. Jace always joked that since there were three extra bedrooms and they only had two kids, there was another one out there, waiting for them to adopt him or her. Magnus was perfectly happy with his two sons at the moment, as they had a habit of being a bit of a handful. Max, who needed no provocation to be sent into a laughing fit, and had a tendency to accidentally make it snow. Rafe, who left weapons around the house and loved Max’s magic, so encouraged him to use it at all junctures, even when it was messy and extremely inconvenient. The older warlock loved that his Nephilim son was so supportive and loving to his younger brother, but sometimes he grudgingly wished he was a little less so when he had to shoo fourteen pigeons out of the loft or spend two hours talking his way out of how a room with a hundred mundanes in it was suddenly empty, and all the mundanes mysteriously standing on the Brooklyn bridge. He doubted the Clave was particularly happy about the magical mishaps that the two brothers had a tendency to cause.

Magnus found Rafe not getting dressed, but sitting on his bed, wringing his hands. His hazel eyes found his dad’s cat eyes and he quietly said, “What if I draw the rune wrong?”

“You won’t, Rafael. You’ve been practicing for weeks.” Distress filled the young boy’s face.

“But what if I say the words wrong? Or I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do? What if he’s changed his mind?” Magnus’ heart went out to his son, and he settled onto the bed beside him, pulling him into his lap, though Rafe always complained he was too old for that anymore. He didn’t say a word now, though, only laid his head on his father’s shoulder.

“Rafe, Will loves you. You’re meant to be parabatai, and besides that he’s had almost half a year to change his mind and hasn’t. He wants to be bonded to you. I’ve seen you fight together. You’re already stronger together than apart. A parabatai bond will only enhance that. And Brother Michah will tell you what to say if you forget.” He kissed Rafe on the top of his head in his mess of dark curls. Then he deposited him on his feet on the floor. “Now, the only question is, what are you going to wear?” The little boy had to crack a smile. Trust his flamboyant, warlock father to focus on his costuming and not the actual ceremony itself.

Alec was much more painfully aware of the hugeness of the day. Not that Magnus didn’t know what it was to be parabatai, and how much it changed lives, but he had never been through the ceremony, never had someone joined to him like that.

Almost as if he knew Alec was thinking about him, Jace burst through the door without even knocking.

“I hope everyone’s decent, because I’m coming in.” He came into the kitchen, catching the apple Alec threw at him almost on reflex. Biting into it, he ruffled Max’s hair and plopped down in the seat beside him. “Hey, Maxy. What’s happening?”

“Daddy is making pancakes, Uncle Jace. You should stay.” The little blue boy grinned his adorable, crooked grin and his uncle couldn’t help smiling back.

“Well, if Daddy is making pancakes, how can I not?” He caught Alec’s eye, and the dark haired man bit back a laugh as he turned back to the griddle. “So where is the man of the hour?”

“Here I am, Uncle Jace. And don’t laugh, because Dad picked out the clothes.” They all turned to look at the source of the voice, the dark haired boy in the door way. The last thing they wanted to do was laugh.

Magnus, being the fashion genius he was, had chosen the standard Shadowhunter black for his pants in the form of Rafe’s favorite jeans. He wore black combat boots with gold laces. Alec had no idea where he’d found it, or if he’d conjured it out of mid air, but his t-shirt was black, but seemed to have gold written from inside the fabric itself, words that he recognized as a Seelie language of some kind. He had no jacket, but a scarf that was somehow the precise color of his eyes hung about his neck. He looked older, somehow, than his nine years.

“You look great, Rafe. Very fitting for today.” The boy grinned, walking over the counter island where his uncle and brother sat and lifted Max down from his lofted chair.

“Thanks, Daddy. Come on Max, let’s go get you dressed.” The warlock boy followed him without complaint, and Alec watched them go fondly.

“Alec, I have to say it. You’re a lucky man. Those boys are just like you and Izzy were when you were little. Rafe is always taking care of Max. He’s a sweet boy. Will is very lucky to get him as his parabatai. When you’re getting someone who has so much love to give as your life partner, your partner in battle, you know you never have to be afraid, or be alone.” Jace’s gold eyes locked with Alec’s blue ones and they both smiled.

Breakfast was loud and full of laughter, and lasted longer than it needed to before everyone realized that they needed to get to the Institute. It was customary for the parabatai to spend the day together before their parabatai ceremony, training or talking or reading, it didn’t matter. Just together.

The sun seemed exceptionally bright to Rafe as his anxiety faded into nothingness and was replaced by excitement. The city seemed alive and glowing with energy, and Rafe felt deep in his heart all the reasons he loved New York. The Institute rose in all it’s unglamoured splendor before his as they walked up, the steeple of the church rising tall and beautiful against the bright blue of the sky. And Will was waiting at the door.

His silver eyes gleamed as he watched his uncles and little cousin and soon-to-be parabatai approach.

“Rafe! Come on, you have to see this!” He grabbed his best friend’s hand and pulled him into the Institute, leaving the others behind. The boys ran up to the library, laughing all the way, their excitement bubbling over. When they entered the room, Will ran straight to the window, gesturing for Rafe to join him. Admittedly, the library was the room with the best view.

The backyard was alight with twinkle lights that shone, even in the sunlight. There were tables everywhere with tablecloths of deep blue, shining with silver. He could see his Aunt Clary and Aunt Isabelle, already yelling at Simon and Jace and Alec. They watched as, with a snap of his fingers, Magnus sent a shower of stars up over the whole yard. Tonight, the place would be enchanted, like they were in Faerie.

For the boys, the day was a blast. They did everything they loved the best, and were pretty much left to their own devices. They played tag with Max in the training room, which was always interesting because the young warlock had a habit of using his magic to end up in the rafters, where only Will, through the use of his own, carefully guarded magic could reach him. Lunch was eaten in the library, where they were never allowed to eat, while Will read to Rafe from _Eragon_ , which they’d started a week ago. Rafe had a hard time reading without getting massive headaches due to his poor eyesight, even with his glasses on, so Will often read to him anything he wanted to read. The _Codex_ for their lessons, the classics to appease Will’s mother and father, and fantasy novels, which were Rafe’s favorite.

“You're doomed!! They're all doomed! Notice I didn't specify what kind of doom, so no matter what happens, I predicted it. How very WISE of me…” Will’s voice dipped and twisted its tone as he read, something that Rafe found extremely ironic. Will had no concept of sarcasm or plays on words, yet he read sarcastic characters so wryly with just the right inflection. Often, after reading certain lines, he would have to have stop to have Rafe explain what they meant, something the younger boy did automatically, both in books and in everyday life. They were just getting into a section with Brom, arguably one of the most dryly funny characters in the book, when Uncle Jace stuck his head into the room.

“Are you ready?” The boys locked eyes and nodded, rising simultaneously and following Jace down to the ballroom. It had always been used not so much for dancing, but for important events. This was where babies were given their protection by the Silent Brothers; this was where Alec and Magnus had gotten married, then Izzy and Simon, and finally Clary and Jace. This room had seen every party, every game of hide-and-seek, every midnight heart to heart (it was right next door to the kitchen and usually had comfy couches). And now, it would see its third parabatai ceremony.

The three circles had been drawn, one for each boy. Brother Michah stood, waiting, and they ventured forward, Will entering the circle on the right, and Rafe taking the left. Each gripped a steele in their hand, eager to begin.

**_Today, we gather to celebrate the decision of William Henry Carstairs and Rafael Santiago Lightwood Bane to join together in the deepest bond a Shadowhunter can form. The decision to become parabatai is not one to be taken lightly, and should only be entered into with the purest of motives._** The deep, sonorous voice of Brother Michah projected into the minds of all gathered, and Rafe looked around, taking advantage of the moment before he would take the oath. He saw his Aunt Tessa and Uncle Jem, looking extremely proud of their son and nephew. He had known they were coming, of course, but wondered when they had gotten there. Someone, surely, should have told him or Will instead of letting them hide out in the library.

Max already seemed bored, despite his fascination with the ceremony, fidgeting in his place between Magnus and Alec. He saw his Aunt Clary, Uncle Jace, Aunt Izzy, and Uncle Simon, all looking prouder than could be. To his immense surprise, the Council representative that had been sent was his grandfather, Robert Lightwood, who stood beside his grandma. Robert was beaming, almost erupting with pride, which made Rafe feel warm inside. He had figured that his grandfather would be too busy to come, and would send someone else. Then his gaze fell on Will.

The silver-eyed boy grinned at him, his face lit up with joy and mischief. A settled feeling came over Rafe as he thought about his best friend, fighting with him everyday of his life, trusting his wellbeing to him. Parabatai were meant to love their partner better than they loved themselves, to wish their happiness above the happiness of even themselves. He was confident that he already did that.

**_It is time. Step into the middle circle._ ** The boys followed instructions, stepping toward each other. **_William, recite the oath and draw the rune. This rune will be permanent, and serves as the physical representation of the link between two parabatai. It amplifies the effectiveness of Marks given by the Other Half._** Will locked his silver eyes on his parabatai’s green-gold ones. Taking a deep breath, he began to recite the words he had so carefully memorized.

_“Entreat me not to leave thee,_

_Or return from following after thee –_

_For wither thou goest, I will go,_

_And wither thou lodgest, I will lodge._

_Thy people shall by my people, and thy God my God._

_Where thou diest, I will die, and there I will be buried._

_The Angel do so to me, and more also,_

_If aught but Death part thee and me.”_

The room was silent then as his steady hand rolled up his shirt and placed the cold tip of the steele against the skin of Rafe’s side. He drew the swirling lines with confidence, and when he finished, he stood back up straight and smiled his sideways smile. Then it was Rafe’s turn.

Electric anxiety buzzed through his veins. He knew that he was meant to be Will’s parabatai; that wasn’t the problem. He was terrified he’d mess up the words, or the rune, and it would all be ruined. But when he looked at Will, his reassuring expression egged him on, as if he knew Rafe needed his confidence, telling him it would be alright.

He was already watching Rafe’s back.

The dark haired Nephilim took a deep, shaky breath and he began.

_“Entreat me not to leave thee,_

_Or return from following after thee -_

_For wither thou goest, I will go,_

_And wither thou lodgest, I will lodge._

_Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God._

_Where thou diest, I will die, and there I will be buried._

_The Angel do so to me, and more also,_

_If aught but Death part thee and me.”_

Will gave a nod, so slight Rafe knew he was the only one who noticed, and he felt a grin of relief spread over his face as he raised his steele. The ink-black of the rune stuck out like night against the pale white skin of Will’s stomach, and Rafe felt a kind of satisfaction and excitement, knowing that he and Will were bound together by a bond deeper than friendship, and stronger than blood.

**_It is done. Remember your oaths as you move forward as one._** The crowd around them erupted into cheers as the boys embraced. Grinning at their family, they clasped hands and stood there, knowing that Magnus had his camera out, because they heard the mad clicking.

Almost immediately, Robert made his way to Rafe, fighting through the crowd of aunts and uncles.

“I’m so sorry I can’t stay for the party, Rafael. But I’m so glad I could come and witness this. I remember Jace and Alec’s ceremony. They were only eleven, a little older than you.” His face got serious, and he knelt down to be at eye level with Rafe. “Hold on tight to Will, my boy. Losing your parabatai is the worst thing that can possibly happen to you. I know. Protect him at all costs.” Wonder and pity filled his hazel eyes, but before he could respond, his grandfather hugged him and turned to Magnus. “Could I trouble you for a portal back to Idris, Magnus? I have a meeting in half an hour that I can’t miss…” Magnus and Robert had never really gotten to be friends, but they were cordial, and even friend _ly_ at times. Nodding, he followed his father-in-law out of the room.

After everyone retreated back to the yard, the party really got going. The food was amazing, and the decorations were every bit as enchanting as Rafe and Will had predicted they would be. Everything was absolutely perfect.

Will saw them first. Rafe was distracted by the random sparks erupting from his little brother’s fingertips, trying to make sure he didn’t set anything on fire (including himself). But Will just happened to be back inside and glance out the window. It was a one in a million chance that he would have seen them, but he did.

Racing back to the party, he practically crashed into his new parabatai. The wild shock and fear in his eyes made Rafe’s stomach churn.

“What, Will? What is it, what’s happened?” The other boy was breathless, but he managed to whisper his response.

“They’re back. Aaron Moonshade and the others. They’ve come back. Rafael, they’ll take you away.” All the breath left his lungs, but Rafe tried to put on a brave face.

“You watch Max. I’ll go talk to him.” When Will started to protest, he put a hand on his arm. “Find a chance to tell my dads without interrupting the party. Just give me a minute.” Feeling much older than his nine-years, and simultaneously much younger, he straightened his shoulders and started to walk out to the front of the Institute, trying to prepare himself for whatever hell awaited.

All the preparation in the world wasn’t enough.


	3. Broken Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the woman reappears, crashing Rafe and Will's parabatai celebration, things get sticky, and everything dissolves into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others, but I think it is more powerful that way.
> 
> As always, I really appreciate your comments and kudos!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

His heart seemed to be beating in his throat. Rafe approached the door just as the delegation of Council members finished stepping through the portal onto the street in front of the Institute. Bracing himself as well as he could, he pushed through the door and met them before they reached the stoop.

Aaron Moonshade saw him first, and looked at him like he wanted to say something, anything, but the woman from last time shot him an icy glare and he pulled back, wounded. She was the one who spoke while the others, he counted five, hung back.

“Rafael Lightwood. You must come with us. You are being recalled to Shadowhunter Academy for the remainder of your training.” His heart stopped, plunging through the earth, and his lungs were suddenly devoid of air.

“You can’t.” It took what seemed like forever, but he was finally able to speak, his voice sounding small and weak to his own ears.

The look the woman gave him was poison. Her long gray hair was pulled back into a coil of thick braids that swung almost knee length, and the tightness to which it was bound made her look all the more severe. Not a hair was out of place. Her eyes, so dark they were almost black, blazed with icy contempt, and her lips were pulled taught into a disapproving line.

“I do not appreciate your back talk, young man. Might I remind you that I am your superior, and as such the Law…”

“It is the Law that prevents you from taking me.” He felt strength seeping into him, and he wondered if Will was willing him to be confident, lending him his strength. His voice grew in power and volume, but never came above normal speaking level, instead becoming sure and commanding. “You have interrupted a party. The party is for Will Carstairs and myself, who joined as parabatai only two hours ago. It is against the highest Law to separate parabatai, and he is assigned to train here. His parents wish it, and you have no jurisdiction over him. In fact,” he added, gaining a firmness in his voice that made the woman before him make an exasperated noise, “you have no jurisdiction over me as long as my parents are alive until I come of age. And last time I checked, about five minutes ago, they are.”

“Your parents died when you were no more than a baby, in the attack on the Buenos Aires Institute.”

“You’re wrong. I have two parents. Two loving parents, who would give everything for me, and who are not going to let you take me.”

“You are an orphan.” The words cut him like seraph blades, each one said with such malice that it was clearly meant to wound. “You will always be an orphan. You have never had a family. Those men are NOT your parents. A Nephilim raised by a man marked by the devil.” She scoffed, obviously disgusted by the idea. “We will place you with a family for over breaks, but you will not return to this Institute. You are too easily corrupted by the magic that surrounds this place.”

“You mean my little brother? My daddy? My parabatai’s mother?” Perhaps it was just his perspective, but it appeared to him that the woman had some sort of vendetta, one that her entourage did not share. They had begun to look uneasy when he mentioned his parabatai; they knew they were now venturing to break the Law, something he was pretty sure they hadn’t signed up for.

Before she could respond, he heard the door burst open and turned to see two dark haired men, one dressed soberly in black with a splash of color in the blue leather jacket he wore, and one in eye-catching gold against dark midnight blue, advancing toward them. Both had distressed looks on their faces and were coming toward the scene as fast as they could. The Shadowhunters took advantage of his distraction to take his arm.

Every nerve lit up inside Rafe, and he started to fight before he could even think about what he was doing. Two Nephilim goons stepped between him and his fathers, just as he spotted the silver eyes of Will and the fiery curls of his Aunt Clary appear from within the Institute. He could feel the magic in the air, the crackle of electricity that he knew so well, the burnt sugar smell of magic. He had to do something to stop what was about to happen, because he could see it now: Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, taking out two Nephilim warriors while Alec Lightwood threatened the others with his bow. The entire Institute, now enemies of the Clave. And Max…

That was what made him stop fighting. He just went very still, and fought instead to find his voice. It seemed to be extremely unreliable today, going away right when he needed to shout. Somehow, though, he managed it.

“ENOUGH!” Everyone froze, even if it was only briefly, his dads looking at him with shock, the others with surprise. “Enough.”

Fighting was going to be useless. His nine-year-old frame was just not strong enough, and his dads were barred from helping; he saw them now being forcibly restrained, like him. Alec Lightwood Bane’s face was taken over with anguish, anger burning in his forget-me-not blue eyes, turning them such a dark shade of blue that they were black. Magnus Bane, who stood next to him, had the look of someone who had had people he loved taken from him before. Rafe could not let him use his magic against the Council. It would ruin him, and send the whole place into chaos. No one said a word for a minute, and finally, the silence was broken by Magnus. There was such a look of shattered pain in his cat eyes, and as his oldest son watched, a determined anger replaced it.

“You wait five years to rip him from us! How are you so cruel? Give us back our son!” The pain in his father’s voice made Rafael Santiago Lightwood Bane cringe. He wanted nothing more than to rewind to the night before, when he had been nestled in Alec’s warm, safe arms, listening to the soothing tones of his voice as he sang him the French ballad that Maryse had sung to him and Uncle Jace and Aunt Izzy and Uncle Max when they were little. But that was gone. It seemed that even that morning when they had waged a tickle war, brothers against dads, was a lifetime away.

            “It’s okay, Daddy. I know you’ll get me back. Somehow. I have to believe it.” Then his eyes fell on his little brother.

            Seven-year-old Maximus Alexander Lightwood Bane, with his navy blue skin and huge bright green eyes that seemed to take up half his face, had just exited the Institute. Obviously, he had noticed that everyone had been one by one disappearing into the Institute and not coming back. He was smart; he knew something was going on. He caught sight of Rafe in trouble and took off at a sprint toward him. Rafe started to struggle again.

            “Keep still! We don’t want to make this hard for you.” A cold ice coated the young Nephilim’s voice as a large Clave member grabbed Max midstride and swept him into the air, leaving his legs kicking at nothing. He had flashes before his eyes, of his little brother ripped away from the home he had practically been born into. He had been orphaned, left to die in the streets, when Magnus found him one day in his basket. He couldn’t have been more than two weeks old. The adoption had taken only two months, since he was a Downworlder and there were so many orphaned Shadowhunter children after the Dark War. The Clave had pushed it through and thought no more of it. But if their dads got arrested…

            “I won’t fight you anymore. Just let me talk to my little brother.” It would be so easy to just cause as much damage as possible, and face the consequences. But no. Not in front of Max. Not at the _expense_ of Max.

            “The devil boy is not your brother,” sneered one of the Council goons, and Rafe reconsidered his decision to go quietly. But before he could react, they let him go, and the man who had grabbed Max set him down roughly. The small warlock boy closed the distance in seconds, wrapping his arms around his brother and burying his face in his shirt.

            “No! Rafe, don’t let them take you! Don’t go!”

            “I have to, Max.” The little boy looked even smaller than normal, his brows furrowing together.

            “But why? Where are you going?”

            “I’ll be back, I promise. In no time at all.” Max’s lip wobbled. “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to. I’ll miss you so much.” When he was sad, Max looked like his whole body was one giant teardrop, teetering on the edge of falling and shattering. Right now he looked like one false move would dissolve him into a sobbing mess. He was just a little boy after all.

            But so was Rafe. Nine years old was so young. And suddenly he was going to be alone.

            “But…” Max paused, gesturing for Rafe to lean close, as if he held a dark secret. “I’ll miss you. I need you. What if I get scared of the dark? Or if we go to the park, who will play tag with me? What if I get bad while you’re gone? What if I’m a devil…” Anger welled up inside him and he got down to eye level with Max, his hazel eyes locking onto Max’s green ones. The little boy was always worrying about “becoming evil.” It stemmed from all the whispers, the sideways glances, the cold shoulder he got from every Nephilim child and their parents because of his skin and his magic. It made Rafe’s normally even temper explode.

“Don’t listen to them. You are not a freak, or evil, or a devil child. There is nothing wrong with you, Maxy, and your magic makes you special. Remember that for me. Your magic is a gift.”

“I’m scared.”

“Show me your magic.” It was an old thing between the brothers. Max’s magic soothed him, and it was beautiful. He made butterflies when he was scared, with gorgeously intricate wings. Blues and purples and vivid greens.

Max snapped with a flourish, and butterflies erupted from his fingertips. Rafe tried hard to smile convincingly, glancing over Max’s head at his dads, both of whom looked close to tears. He had always taken care of Max, not that his parents couldn’t. They were amazing, and loving, and compassionate, and fun, and they seemed to know everything. Max was Alec’s Little Chameleon, and Rafe was Magnus’ Angel. But he always felt like his baby brother could use all the love he could get. His dad said that, when he said things like that, he was “wise beyond his years,” whatever that meant.

The butterflies fluttered away, and Rafael brought his eyes back down to meet his brother’s.

“Beautiful. Whenever you feel scared, or miss me, do your magic. I promise, I’ll see it, wherever I am.” A hand gripped his arm and pulled him gently away from his brother. He looked at his family, broken and torn, and for a second he felt like the scared little kid he was, not the brave, hardened warrior he would have to be to survive without his dads and brother and parabatai. “I love you.” Alec burst forward with all the strength he had.

“We will find you, Rafe! I swear on the Angel, we will find you.”

As the only world he’d ever known disappeared, he felt himself slip into some kind of daze. It was like a terrible nightmare. Finding him wouldn’t be the problem, he knew that. It would be getting him back. They would do anything to get him back, no matter what it cost.

Rafe couldn’t let that happen. He would find another way. He had to.


	4. At the Institute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Rafe's absence, no effort is spared in looking for him. But the toll the search and the time apart is taking on his family is almost unbearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rafe has been gone for what seems like an eternity. This touches on how it is affecting Max, Alec, and Will, specifically, with insight into the pain Magnus is feeling too without focusing on him.
> 
> I hope you like it!

The bedroom was cast over with a heavy shadow; it seemed so empty. Four months ago it had been alive with laughter and the life of a young Shadowhunter who left weapons everywhere and never picked up his clothes. It had been home to so many blanket forts that Rafe and Max had made, strictly no daddies allowed, and the place that Magnus and Alec had taken turns comforting their son, right after he came to them, when he woke up screaming from nightmares.

Alec now sat on the bed, having been forcibly sent home from the Institute, where the search for Rafe had not stopped since he was taken. Alec had barely slept and hardly ate in the four months that Rafe had been gone, and if it wasn’t for Magnus and Max, he probably would have starved by now. It wasn’t like they didn’t know _where_ he was. They had figured out a long time ago that he was at Shadowhunter Academy; but they couldn’t get him back. The Consul, at least, was directly involved in his kidnapping, and Alec’s father, the Inquisitor, was somewhere where he couldn’t be contacted, and had been this whole time. His son and son-in-law didn’t even know if he was a part of it or not. Alec sincerely hoped not; he and his father were finally starting to really mend fences, and he and Magnus were on cordial terms.

He looked around the room, taking in the sight of the place that felt lacking, felt so dead and sent an ache deep into his heart at the absence of his young son. The walls, painted by Clary to reflect the New York skyline and enchanted by Magnus to have an almost three-dimensional effect, had lost their magic. The ceiling, which either shone with sunlight or twinkled with stars (depending on the time of day), had gone dark. The bed, with its sapphire blue bedclothes, was neatly made, but the floor was scattered with clothes, left over from the day of Rafe and Will’s parabatai ceremony, when Magnus must have gone through every scrap of clothing Rafe owned to find his outfit. His cello, untouched for months in its case, collected dust in the corner, next to his music stand and piles of sheet music. Then there was his wall of pictures.

Like Magnus, Rafe was obsessed with documenting life. Alec reached out and gently ran his fingers over the photos of Rafe and Max, of Alec and Magnus, of Magnus and Rafe. There were family portraits, and drawings (compliments of Aunt Clary) of him and Will, _so many_ of him and Will. Max’s laughing face, Will’s camera-shy silver eyes, Alec’s reluctant smile, Magnus’ outrageous poses. They papered the wall above his headboard. Alec’s eyes flitted to his beautiful camera, a birthday present from Uncle Jace, abandoned on his bedside table.

Suddenly fighting back tears, something not uncommon for the last four months, Alec buried his face in his hands. He didn’t even hear someone come in, didn’t sense their presence until the bed sagged under their weight and they spoke.

“Alec.” The dark-haired man felt a hand on his back, and his shoulders began to shake, against his will.

“I remember the first time I saw Rafe, Jace.” He turned his head, his despairing blue eyes locking onto the impossibly gold ones of his parabatai. “I was in Buenos Aires for the Clave. The relations between Downworlders and Nephilim there had been very strained since the destruction of the Institute. And I was the ambassador. I’d been working so hard on improving relations, redrafting the Accords so that everyone was protected, ending the Cold Peace and all the hostility that came with it. I was perfect for it, married to a Downworlder with a warlock son, one of my best friends and future brother-in-law a former vampire, and my brother’s girlfriend’s dad a werewolf. Friends with the effective heads of the LA Institute, who had family members with Seelie blood.” He stopped briefly. He was still looking at Jace, but his eyes were far away, remembering.

“I got to the place that the Institute had used to stand, and it was decimated. Almost nothing was left standing, just heavily glamoured splinters of scorched wood and shards of stained glass. There was nothing there. At least, I thought there was nothing there.

“I was supposed to meet the Head of the vampire clan and the Alpha of the local wolf pack, as well as the High Warlock, who Magnus had warned me was super handsy and a HUGE flirt, at the site in ten minutes, so there wasn’t really time for me to go anywhere. I sat down on the curb to text Magnus when I heard it.

“It was like when Izzy was little and you used to pull her braids. Remember that sound she would make, the cry that was a mixture of pain and surprise? It sounded like that. And it was really close by. There was nothing much I could do other than go see what it was. It was hard to pick my way through the site, because of all the broken glass, but just as I was about to give up looking, I caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye.

“He was so small, and thin. The first thing I noticed was a pair of green-gold hazel eyes, almost precisely the color of Magnus’, which is not something you see everyday. They looked HUGE in his tiny little face, and they were just filled to the brim with fear. Then, it was his tangled mop of black curls, like Max’s. His skin was so pale, and just covered in cuts and these livid bruises. A shivering little mess of boy; he looked so cold. I went over to him, wrapped him in my jacket, and as I lifted him out of the wreckage, he clung to me like he would never let go.

“There was no way of knowing how long he’d been there, but the Institute had been attacked almost six months before. We still have no idea how he survived that long on his own, and we never figured out who he was. He didn’t talk, and he didn’t remember his name. He didn’t remember anything.

“I remember texting Magnus, and having him show up not two minutes later, taking this terrified bundle out of my arms and taking him back to the house the Clave had given me to stay in while I was there, humming Irish folk songs to him to keep him calm as he went away. I watched them go, thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad to have another son. We loved Max so much, and loved each other even more; there had to be plenty to go around. It wasn’t as if we were hurting for money, either. But I couldn’t think anymore about it then, because they all showed up at once, the Downworlder leaders I was meeting with. Hiram Kennedy, the Head Vamp; Rielle Rodriguez, the Alpha; and Benedict Quincy, the High Warlock. None of them wanted to compromise, because ‘the land has always been pack country,’ or ‘Vamp territory has been restricted too much already, and we deserve some compensation,’ or even better ‘an irresistibly attractive Nephilim like you, I bet you have a good brain in that pretty little head of yours, behind those impossibly blue eyes.’” When Jace lifted an eyebrow, Alec shrugged half-heartedly. “Magnus warned me.

“I could barely pay attention. All I could think about was that sweet, terrified little boy, and the growing certainty that I wanted him to be part of our family.” Jace had been quiet for a while, just listening to the story. He remembered well the first time his parabatai and brother-in-law had come to the Institute with the little boy between them. Rafe had been so thin and small, but it didn’t cry or seem afraid. He looked happy, and with a hand in Magnus’ hand, and a hand in Alec’s, he looked like he finally belonged somewhere. Max had squealed with happiness when he saw his dads again, squirming out of Jace’s arms and running toward them on his tiny little legs. But he hadn’t headed to one of his dads. He had run straight to Rafe and stopped about six inches short of running into him. The Nephilim boy, smiling shyly, had somehow found the courage to whisper a greeting.

“Hello, Baby Brother.” That was that; Max was sold. They were a family from then on.

Jace was jerked out of his remembering by Alec’s sudden movement. He rose from the bed and headed toward the door.

“I have to go back. I have to keep looking.”

“Alec, stop.” Even Jace was surprised that he did. The golden haired boy moved forward to put a hand on his parabatai’s arm. “You have to sleep. You are no help to anyone if you are falling over from exhaustion. I can feel it; I can feel how tired you are. Go to bed.” The tone of his voice was so firm that Alec couldn’t argue. He changed direction and headed to the master bedroom, collapsing from depression and exhaustion almost before he found the bed.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

A few hours later, Alec woke with a start. He had been having a horrible nightmare where he and Izzy were being chased by vampires and Rafe and Max were crying for help but they could never reach them. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing his boots or his gear, which he knew for a fact he had been when he fell, literally FELL, to sleep. The second, that Magnus was now curled up next to him, his arm gripping him tightly, and his breath hot on his neck. He had woken as well when Alec jerked awake, and was rubbing his back, soothing him.

“It’s okay, Alexander. I’m right here.” Magnus’ voice sounded as tired and sad as Alec felt, but before he could say anything, he heard soft sobbing coming from down the hall.

“Max.” He rose, forcing his bare feet to carry him across the cold floor and out the door, coming into the little warlock’s room as quietly as he could. The little boy, his beautiful blue skin blending with the indigo of his sheets, had stuffed his face into his pillow to stifle the sound of his crying. With a pang in his heart, Alec wondered how long his baby had been crying before he woke up and noticed.

“What’s wrong, Little Chameleon?” Max looked up, his emerald eyes filled to the brim with fat tears, and held his arms out to his dad. In two strides, Alec crossed the room and lifted him into his strong, safe arms. “Shhhhhh. It’s okay, Max. It was just a dream.” He had a flash of his little brother Max, how he used to tell him the exact same thing when he woke up from a nightmare and cried out. He was so much younger then, but his parenting skills did not seem to have evolved that much.

“I want Rafe. Daddy, when is he coming back?” The young warlock’s voice was small in the midst of his gulping sobs, and his dad’s heart broke, impossibly, even more. He kissed the curly head and felt his seven-year-old snuggle into him more as he started back toward his and Magnus’ bedroom where his husband waited.

“I really hope soon, Little Chameleon. Daddy and I are trying so hard to get him back soon.” It wasn’t just for Max, and for themselves, that they needed Rafe back. Every day without him was excruciating, but it was worse for Will.

Will Carstairs had tried so hard to be brave, through this whole ordeal. But as the days had stretched into weeks had stretched into months, he had become wretched, sick. As a former Silent Brother, his father knew exactly why.

Separating parabatai was against the highest Law of the Clave, everyone knew that. But it was one of those things that nobody knew why, like why romantic feelings for your parabatai were forbidden. Perhaps the motto of the Clave should have been _The Law is ambiguous, but it is the Law_ instead of _The Law is hard, but it is the Law_. With agitation and anxiety for his son written across his fair features, Jem had finally disclosed the reason behind the Law. When parabatai were separated, they felt it, deep inside their hearts. Alec described it as a sort of dip in your stomach, like falling, that never went away; Julian Blackthorn and Emma Carstairs said it was more like a hook pulling behind their ribs, a dull ache that persisted always. But the longer parabatai were parted, the more intense this feeling got, until it overtook them. Partners that were apart for months could develop a feverish physical condition that rendered them unable to function; sluggish thought, resulting in an inability to focus so great that they were a danger to themselves and others; or emotional distress that caused deep depression and drained them of the desire to even get out of bed, eat, train, or do anything but sleep. That was what was happening to Will, and they suspected Rafe too, far, far away in Alicante.

Will was a wreck. That was the only way to describe it. He was paler than normal, which was saying something since he already had a complexion that was borderline vampire pale. He couldn’t focus on anything, and refused to read, _Eragon_ sitting unfinished on his bedside table. His eyesight was declining, and the world swam before him as the result of frequent migraines. He was sad, and easily upset, and he wanted to help look for his best friend so badly, but couldn’t help. So he slept, a lot. And when he wasn’t sleeping, he was watching Max.

Everything was a mess. It was as if life was on hold until they could get Rafe back.

Max fell back into a fitful sleep in only a few minutes, and Alec locked eyes with the love of his life, seeing his own sadness and pain reflected in those beautiful, old cat eyes. Reaching out, he touched Magnus’ face, feeling the warlock press his cheek into his husband’s hand.

“I still have hope, Mag. I have to.” Magnus leaned in and kissed Alec, soft and slow and with extreme tenderness.

“I know, Alexander. So do I. I _know_ it won’t be long now. Because I found him. I found your father. And either he is involved in this nightmare, or he can put a stop to it.” Alec felt a wave of hope mixed with dread wash over him. He hoped beyond hope that his dad was not involved, that he would instead bring his grandson back home to stay, and help them find out exactly who spearheaded this whole damn thing and end them. But what if _he_ had done it? “Alexander. I don’t believe he could do this. He loves Rafael; you know that. And he holds the Law, and parabatai, in the highest regard. This has broken _every_ Law.” Nodding, Alec settled down to go back to sleep for a few hours, linking the fingers of one hand with Magnus’, the other hand still held by the slumbering little boy between them.

“I hope you’re right.”


	5. Shadowhunter Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recap of Rafe's nightmare at the Academy, separated from his family, and how being away from Will is affecting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter, again, and kind of like part II to the last chapter. We've seen everything from Max, Alec, and Magnus' point of view, but Rafe is only nine, and this is extremely hard on him as well. So it's sort of just a window into what has been happening to him. I hope you like it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I love your feedback :)

_The room was tiny, cold. The walls seemed to close in, and he felt a pulling, an ache inside his chest that wouldn’t go away. The bed was hard, and cold, and the lack of natural lighting made the whole place feel artificial and like a horror movie. Voices, unrecognizable, echoed around him, getting closer and closer, like the walls, closing in…_

Rafe woke with a shout, in his warm bed at Shadowhunter Academy. His roommate, Kendrick Starkweather, was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at him. The look in his eyes was scared, but he didn’t think it was for Rafe’s wellbeing. He lay back, his breathing coming in pants but slowly evening out.

He’d been there for four months, but it seemed like an eternity. He had only seen two places in Alicante, and hadn’t been allowed off campus since arriving at the Academy. The first place they’d taken him was the place he had been dreaming about, cold and damp and cut off from the world. It was to hide him from his fathers, they told him, but he knew that it didn’t make a difference. Magnus and Alec would find him eventually, but Rafe couldn’t communicate with them. There was no way to know how close they were, or when they were coming. His letters, his fire messages, his phone calls, they were all blocked by the Clave. His letters were short, and generally just pleas to go home, in case the Clave was reading them before not letting them reach his parents.

_Dear Max, Dad and Dad,_

_I miss you. I miss you a lot. The first days at the Academy were so hard, and I feel the absence of Will like a knife in my gut. Everything about this is a nightmare._

_I know you’re looking for me, but please. Find me._

_All my love,_

_Rafe Lightwood Bane_

That had been only the first. Not only was Rafe unable to talk to his dads, he had no way of talking to Will, who he missed like a piece of his heart. He was so lonely without him. He had few friends, no allies, and only one professor wanted to have anything to do with him. And his health was visibly deteriorating. What had begun the captivity as an uncomfortable feeling of nothingness in the pit of his stomach at the distance from Will had become a constant, throbbing pain in his chest. His skin was now pale bordering translucent, and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Food was repugnant to him. Giving his training professor one more reason to hate his guts, his hands had gotten shaky and his eyesight even worse than before. The world blended together and spun at random intervals, and his glasses were useless to correct anything.

It was a bit of a relief to abandon his glasses, though, despite the fact he couldn’t see and was unable to continue his physical training because of it. They had immediately set him apart as an object of ridicule for his peers, because it was unheard of for Shadowhunters to wear glasses (something about the blood of the angel). When he had first set foot into a classroom, it had been one of the first things pointed out by his professor.

_“Class, this is Rafael Santiago Lightwood. Rafael, please stand and introduce yourself, and explain what those mundane spectacles are doing on your face.” Rafe looked around, the feeling of fear and nausea he’d been fighting since being taken threatening to overtake him, and slowly rose. “Come to the front, please, Mr. Lightwood.” He followed instructions cautiously, staring intently at his feet as he made his way to the front of the room._

_“Actually, my name is Rafael Santiago Lightwood BANE. I come from New York, where I live with my dads, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn. I was brought here forcibly, separated from my parabatai and my parents and little brother, Max, who is also a warlock.” He heard a few sharp intakes of breath, but mostly sniggering from around the room, and whispers, but he kept looking at his shoes. “I wear glasses because my eyes were damaged beyond repair when the Buenos Aires Institute was destroyed. I was five years old, too young to mark, and lived in the wreckage for almost six months before my dads rescued and adopted me. By then, it was impossible to fix, even with magic. So I wear glasses for everyday and contacts when I’m training or fighting. Except, when I was taken, I didn’t get to pack anything; everything I have now belongs to the Clave. So I don’t have my contacts and have to hope I don’t get hit in the eye while training.” A sudden jolt of emptiness and loneliness washed over him and he stopped, his arms folding over his stomach. After a moment of silence, he heard the professor’s voice again._

_“You may return to your seat, Mr. Bane.” Surprised, Rafe finally looked up, glancing at his professor, who now looked at him with kinder eyes. He was a young man, probably thirty, with short blond hair and hazel eyes. Nodding, he returned to the seat in the back of the room he had occupied upon entering. If this was any indication, it was going to be long captivity._

And it had been so far. He had an ally in Professor Holst, and had made one friend even as he’d made a lot of enemies. Like A LOT of enemies. Because there was a lot of Downworlder hate, and to most of the other kids and their parents, his acknowledging two warlocks as his brother and father, not even touching on the fact that he had two dads, made them hate him by association. He had always kept Will’s secret, his beautiful magic, close to his chest, but now he guarded it like it was a gem. Seeing this much hatred, he knew things he had never even imagined, including exactly what would happen to a Shadowhunter with magic, and there was no way he was letting that happen to his parabatai. By the Angel, he missed Will.

His only friend, Ellis Dawnstrider, was an anomaly. She was two years older than him, but knew at least something about his struggle. She had been orphaned in the war, and taken in by a werewolf couple that had kept her for three years before she was found and taken away, placed with the Dawnstrider family in Alicante.

“I still miss them, all the time,” had been her response when he asked her why she was so nice to him. “I know what it’s like to have a family that loves you more than anything and suddenly just… not.”

But Ellis wasn’t there now, and remembering all the ins and outs of his captivity was not helping anything. Now, as he lay in his bed in the middle of the night, he was scared and his roommate was looking at him like he had the plague and he felt distinctly sick and dizzy with a massive headache. Everything was spinning and he was too warm, and had to get out. Stumbling out into the hallway, not bothering to put on a shirt or shoes and eliciting no protest from Kendrick, he tried to make his way toward the infirmary, but felt his knees buckle before he took more than ten steps. He braced himself to hit the hardwood floor, but instead was caught mid-fall by a pair of strong, gentle hands bearing a family ring with the crest of a sun surrounded by planets.

_Professor Holst_. The face of his Law professor came into focus before his swimming eyes only briefly before his vision started to blacken. Then, the terrifying thought came to his mind of his parabatai; that had to be it, and he could envision the silver-eyes boy, passed out, in pain, calling for him.

“Will.” The word was barely a whisper, and suddenly everything went dark. It was the last thing he thought for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an ally in the Academy, Rafe is reunited with his family amid conflict and chaos.

Panic radiated off of Professor Holst as he swept his young pupil into his arms and took off toward the infirmary. Rafe’s breathing was shallow, and he thrashed every once in a while, as if entrenched in some horrendous nightmare. Somehow he knew that iratzes would do nothing. The school seemed endless, a cavernous labyrinth that was bigger and darker than it had ever been before, now that this boy was in agony in his arms.

A Silent Brother stood over another patient, an older boy with an obvious stab wound, but turned when the door burst open. The disheveled professor deposited Rafe on a bed with impossible gentleness before coming to him.

“Please, you have to help him. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but he’s in so much pain, and can’t breathe. Please.” Professor Holst had no idea why he felt so much fear for this boy, why he cared so much, but he felt as if his heart would explode from caring for this lonely little boy, alone and abandoned to the harshness of the world. Tall, commanding, and enveloped in his sweeping robe, the Silent Brother finished an iratze and was suddenly at the nine-year-old Nephilim’s side.

_You said you didn’t see what happened?_

“No, I saw him collapse, and that was it. A surprisingly gentle, ash-colored hand reached out and felt Rafe’s forehead, pushing aside his wild, sweat-soaked black curls.

_This boy is burning up. We much cool him down._ The nimble fingers gently removed Rafe’s shirt, cutting it off instead of forcing it over his head. Then he stopped, eyes locking onto something. When Holst followed his gaze to see what captured his attention, he inhaled sharply, feeling anger and pity wash over him in suffocating waves.

On the far too pale skin of his side, one of Rafe’s runes burned white hot, glowing almost silver, rimmed with angry red. It looked as if the swirls had started to fade, but then thought better of it and caught fire, lacing lines of flame up Rafe’s side. The whole right side of his chest and stomach was pattered with tendrils of silver, working their way toward his heart, and as the Silent Brother touched them gently, the subconscious little boy cried out in agony. Anger seemed to suddenly permeate the room, and Holst felt as if his head would explode with the force of the healer’s mindspeak.

_WHERE IS THIS BOY’S PARABATAI?!?_ Trying to think despite the sudden migraine, Holst suddenly had a flash of Rafe’s first day in class.

_“I was brought here forcibly, separated from my parabatai and little brother…”_ He had felt a pang of pity, then forgotten about it.

“I don’t know. Back in New York, I think. He said something about being separated from him when he was taken by the Clave. I don’t know his name, though.” He wracked his brain, trying desperately to think through his panic. “But he’s a Lightwood! Or at least his father is. The Inquisitor.” The Silent Brother was already ahead of him, the fire message burning between his fingertips before the last words were out of Holst’s mouth.

Almost instantaneously, a portal appeared at the window and out stepped Robert Lightwood, Inquisitor of the Clave, in the flesh. His dark hair, normally perfectly in place, was disheveled, his dark eyes panicked, his forehead creased with worry. He wore only pajamas and a silk robe, but at his waist hung seraph blades, all unnamed.

“Where is he? My grandson? I got word only this evening that he had been abducted, from my son-in-law. Is he…” The words died on his lips as his eyes settled on the trembling little boy and he crossed to him immediately. “Who would do this? We have to get him back to Will and his family. Jem will want to…”

_You mean to say, Robert Lightwood, that the head of the Clave had no idea that his own grandson was taken for four months after it happened?_ Robert looked shocked as the Silent Brother cut across him, eyes boring accusingly into him as if he was underneath the Mortal Blade itself. It was just in that moment, looking on, that Holst realized he had no idea what the Silent Brother’s name was; it hardly seemed the time to ask. It also hardly seemed the time for random, tangent thoughts, but his anxiety was really starting to get to him. He was jolted back to the situation by Robert’s response.

“I swear it. I would _never_ hurt my son like this. I may not agree with all his life choices, but he is my child, and I love him. And parting parabatai is an EXTREMELY serious offense. Magnus finally got through to me where I was in deep negotiations with the Unseelie court tonight, and I portaled back to Idris immediately.” Robert seemed about to say more, but a cry came from the bed where Rafe lay, and they all turned to face the child, worry writing itself deeper into its features. As they watched his green-gold hazel eyes shot open, and he began to scream in agony, crying out piteously for his parabatai.

“Will!” Holst and Robert stood glued where they stood as if by magic, but the silent Brother moved like lighting, as if all his training had prepared him for this moment.

_There is only one problem, and that is that none of us can create a portal. We MUST get the boy to New York immediately._

Finally able to move, Robert pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for Magnus Bane, despite it being 2 AM in New York. The phone rang four times before the groggy voice of the High Warlock of Brooklyn came over the line. It was immediately obvious that he hadn’t checked his caller ID.

“Yes, what is it? I don’t get much sleep as it is, so this better be important.”

“Magnus.”

“Robert?” His voice changed instantly, snapping awake and taking on the gravity his half millennium of life had given him.

“You need to get here. NOW. The Academy.” The line dropped dead, dial tone buzzing in the Inquisitor’s ear. An explosion of sound came from the window and Magnus Bane in all his un-styled, clean-faced glory erupted into the room. It was Magnus like no one save Alec and their boys had ever seen him; the warlock wore no makeup, his green-gold cat eyes looking smaller and lonely, younger without the kohl or glitter that normally lined them. There were dark purple circles beneath them as well, a telltale sign of his lack of sleep. His black hair fell into his eyes without the use of gel or magic, devoid of its customarily vibrant tips. He was shirtless, his stomach flat but un-muscled, the muscles of his arms slim, the angry white scars of his childhood fully visible against the caramel skin of his back.

Magnus didn’t say a word to anyone, but crossed immediately to his son, the pain of the scene fully visible in his eyes.

“Oh, my baby. Little Angel, can you hear me?” He laid his cool fingers against Rafe’s burning skin and felt the boy relax under his touch.

“Daddy. It hurts so bad.” His voice was small and strained, hidden between whimpers of pain. With a snap, Magnus ignited a spark of magic at his fingertips and cast it over Rafe.

“Does that help at all, Rafael?” He shook his head painfully, tears escaping from his huge eyes. It was then that Holst noticed two things: the first, that Rafe’s eyes were, impossibly, almost the precise color of Magnus’; the second, that despite the horrible amount of pain he was in (physically and emotionally), the young Nephilim had not shed a tear at any point that anyone had ever seen, until his dad showed up. Now, suddenly, he was so young; he was sobbing from panic and hurt like the little boy he was. And he could tell that Magnus wanted nothing more than to cradle his young son in the safety and warmth of his arms. But at this moment, he had to set that aside; they HAD to get him to New York, and not just because that was where Will was.

As a Silent Brother, Jem Carstairs had studied parabatai, almost to the exclusion of all else. It was his way of coping with the loss of his son’s namesake, Will Herondale, and the hole in his life. He knew almost everything about it, Magnus thought, after 200 years almost of study. Certainly he knew more than any other living Shadowhunter, and he was in New York, at the Institute, with his son.

“Rafe, I’m going to lift you, and it’s going to hurt. I am so sorry, Love.” Incredibly gentle arms took the boy, and he screamed in agony at the touch. “I’m sorry.” His voice was broken, but Magnus’ face was set with determination.

He almost made it to the portal.

Almost.

The doors burst open, and several Nephilim entered, seraph blades drawn, and Magnus immediately recognized a very uneasy-looking Aaron Moonshade amongst them. His eyes betrayed the fact that he did not want to be there, standing with what he knew was the wrong side.

“Unhand the child, Warlock.” Magnus’ gaze was ice cold, nut his hands were occupied, so magic was completely out of the question. To his surprise, Robert stepped between the Calve goons and his grandson and son-in-law. The warlock caught a glimpse of Aaron through the crowd again, and watched as he belted his blades, determination setting into his eyes.

“I order you to stop.” A few others faltered upon seeing the Inquisitor, standing before them, blocking their path, but the Nephilim in back, armed with bows, loosed arrows anyway. They flew directly towards Magnus, seeming to fly in slow motion as a flurry movement struck five down in one sweep of a sword. A few still got through, but now Aaron stood beside Robert, his blade drawn.

“ _Raphael.”_ The seraph blade in Robert Lightwood’s hand sprang to life, the steady blue light illuminating his angry eyes, flashing in such a way as would scare the toughest warrior. One of the arrows had missed Magnus’ head by mere inches, another had grazed his arm. Professor Holst drew up beside Aaron on the right, and the Silent Brother on the left, forming a barricade between the Nephilim and Magnus Bane.

“You are all committing high treason! Stop this!” The leader sneered, advancing a few steps.

“We don’t take orders from you, Inquisitor.” The title was spat at him like an insult or a slur. “Not from a traitor who deals with Downworlders and accepts demon spawn as family.” Robert closed the gap, attacking as he realized they were referencing Max.

“Go! Magnus, GO!” Without another second of hesitation, Magnus stepped through the portal, leaving in his wake the sight of four Shadowhunters facing twenty and the clang of seraph blade against seraph blade.

“CLOSE THE PORTAL!” Magnus raced away from the opening, forcing himself to ignore how much it hurt Rafe, and Tessa stepped forward, closing the swirling vortex of light with great difficulty.

“Rafe!” Jem saw the boy cradled in his father’s arms and reached out to take him, carrying him quickly to the other room where Will slept fitfully. As if he sensed the return of his other half, though, he woke immediately upon them entering and silver eyes locked on glittering green-gold hazel.

“Rafael.” With some effort, Will reached out a hand to his parabatai and twined their fingers together as Jem set him on the next bed.

“We have to work quickly.” A steele was out of his pocket, and he motioned for Alec, who had appeared in the last minute seemingly out of nowhere, to take out his own. “I’ve never seen this done, but I researched how to renew a parabatai bond for fifty years. We have to retrace the runes at precisely the same moment. Are you ready?” The blue-eyed man nodded. Jem, his dark eyes full of hope and fear for his son and his parabatai, nodded back. “Three, two, one…” They touched the burning tips of the steeles against the boys’ skin, and they cried out in unison as their fathers traced the swirling lines of the Marks.

As they finished, Alec watched in awe as the fiery tendrils of silver receded, disappearing from Rafe’s skin, and the white-hot glow of the rune faded to inky black against parchment pale skin. It was still rimmed with red, and Rafe and Will still shook with pain and fatigue, but there was also relief. For the first time, Alec allowed himself to fall to his knees beside Rafe’s bed and really take in the fact that his son was back.

“Rafe.” The little boy looked at him, eyes welling up once again with fat, hot tears.

“Daddy. I was so scared.” So Alec held him. He held his son tight, rocking him and singing the French ballad his mother had sung to him, not caring for a moment about the battle that Magnus had briefly mentioned when he entered or the Calve or anything but the sobbing boy in his arms who was slowly but surely falling asleep, safe for the first time in months in the arms of his father.


End file.
